Nothing to Wear
by CorpseGrl
Summary: Like many women, Molly Hooper has a closet full of clothes and nothing to wear. What happens when she makes a bold choice to borrow clothes left by a certain consulting detective? Set after Sherlock has returned and everyone is going back to normal. One-shot/pre-Sherlolly.


**AN: This was going to be just a little drabble and grew to a full on one-shot. Have to say I'm pretty happy with it, please let me know what you think as I'm still exploring the characters and their interactions.**

**Disclosure: I make no profit from this story and merely do it for love of the characters already established and owned by the BBC and the writers of _Sherlock._**

**_Nothing to Wear_**

Molly stared into her closet. How was it possible to have a closet full of clothes and have nothing to wear?! She knew that she wasn't a fashion icon; in fact, on more than one occasion she had been told that she was a fashion disaster. But she was going to make an effort. It was beginning to look like life was going to go back to normal and she was going to try to move on as well. Sherlock had been back for almost 7 months now and in light of all she had done for him, he was trying to be more considerate. In return she was trying to be less nervous and even a bit bold. She certainly wasn't going to attract anyone's attention, especially his, in the same boring blouses, jumpers and khakis she always wore.

She pulled several tops from the closet and tossed them on her bed. Still nothing and she was going to be late for work if she didn't decide on something soon. Suddenly she stopped as she took hold of a shirt near the back of her closet. She had forgotten it was there. Molly had hung it there nearly a year ago and hadn't touched it again. There was a point in time where she couldn't bear to see it; there was also a time where it was the only thing that healed her heart. Just touching it always reminded her he wasn't completely lost to them. It was one of Sherlock's dress shirts. He'd left it behind when he left to destroy the spider's web. During that long 18 month exile, he would sometimes break into her flat to crash in her spare room or to have her stitch up his wounds. There was no predictability to his appearances and every time she was both relieved to know he was still alive but also shattered to see the pain he carried. Not just the physical cuts and bruises, the emotional struggle of coming to her flat instead of going to 221B. He rarely spoke and was always wearing something different. His signature style was just that, too recognizably 'him' and he had always worn something else when he left her flat to continue his mission. But this shirt was one of a handful he had stashed in a drawer in her guest room. If he was staying for a day or so to recover he would always wear his own shirts. It was something he could do to regain himself in the chaos that was then his life. Molly was certain it was how he coped, he tried to hold on to the memory of who he was before Moriarty, before he was torn from everything he ever knew and maybe loved. When he was gone she would clean them and keep them. To be ready when he returned and to remind her that he would.

She sighed and ran her fingers along the buttons. It wasn't _the_ purple shirt that made her shiver, but it was an equally rich merlot shade. Sherlock hadn't asked about the few belongings he'd left at her flat and she never thought to bring it up. Now that he was back, it was easier to just gloss over those 18 months. Part of her liked having his things around. They were a reminder that she counted and possibly been solely responsible for keeping him alive and safe for so long. Molly considered for a bit. It would certainly be a different look from her jumpers and he would certainly notice. Of course it would only matter if he was in the lab today, and that was just as unpredictable now as it was before. What would he say? Would he even care? The worst he could do would be to chastise her for being sentimental. She could handle that. She pulled on his shirt and paired it with some black trousers. There were advantages to the fact that he wore such tight fitting shirts as it draped fairly well even on her petite frame. The sleeves were much too long but when rolled to her elbows were practical and comfortable. Finally, she pulled on some boring chunky black shoes. She was going for flattering, not flamboyant, and she still had to be on her feet in the morgue all day. Molly pulled up her hair into a high tight bun, another small change that also served the purpose of keeping out of her way at work. Nodding at her reflection in the mirror, Molly grabbed her phone and keys from the side table, purse and coat from beside the door and rushed off to St. Bart's.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon and Molly Hooper was feeling pretty good with her day. She had felt a bit self-conscious at first; after all she was wearing one of Sherlock's shirts. What if someone noticed and said something? It wasn't like she hadn't fielded questions about her potential relationship with the man since before his fall. But now everything was noticeably different. It didn't take a mind as quick and clever as his to conclude that she must have had something to do with his survival and subsequent 'resurrection.' Gossip in the halls at work had it that they had become something more-than-friends, but it really wasn't like that at all. True he treated her a bit better, fewer remarks about her conversational skills and her appearance, but other than that they just remained friends. That was a big enough jump in their relationship status. Sherlock didn't favor sentiment, let alone romance. But wearing his shirt did make her smile, it was a subtle reminder how important she had been and just glancing down at it throughout the day brought a smile to her face.

Molly shrugged away her nervous thoughts, few would notice it under the lab coat anyway, and she was being silly. Placing her phone on the speaker dock on her desk in the lab to provide some background music, she set to work filling out paperwork. It was tedious but necessary. She hummed along with the music and the time flew, her stack of completed files quickly growing larger than the stack left to finish. Half an hour before her shift was up, she stood to go file the completed folders in the back office. When she came back out she was both surprised and excited to see a familiar figure setting to work at a station at the edge of the lab.

"Got a case or just a bit bored?" she inquired. She was so thankful that she could now ask the man a simple question without stuttering like a fool.

"Working on an experiment concerning bacterial cultures and John frowns on my working with contagions in the kitchen," Sherlock answered without looking at her.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," he added.

Molly smiled. Sherlock would never have bothered what John felt about specimens mingling with edibles on the kitchen table before. Come to think of it, he wouldn't have considered whether he was bothering her either.

"No, it's fine. I still have a half-hour or so in my shift. If you need anything, just let me know," she replied, heading back to her paperwork.

* * *

Sherlock may not have looked up, but he had caught enough of Molly's appearance from the corner of his eye to make him curious. He was as relieved as she was that her temerity and stutter had stayed gone after he returned. Granted her quiet and unobtrusive nature had been the only reason that she had been able to help him with the Fall and with the long struggle to destroy Moriarty's network and return to life. Her quiet strength was now a comfort and a solace. More than ever, he found that it was easy to think in her presence and he found he sometimes came to the lab just to be around her more than to appease John's desires for a more sanitary situation at Baker Street. He was now able to get answers to questions from her without waiting for her to compose herself. She was undoubtedly the most qualified pathologist available to him and he valued her professional input on his cases. Molly now numbered among his few friends. But what was she wearing?

Sherlock glanced over at her as she sat at her desk tapping her foot to the music and scribbling away at her work. Her hair was pulled up in a professional and tidy bun and he could see more of the graceful curve of her neck and shoulders. Just a hint of dark red collar showed above the edge of her lab coat. This was new. The color certainly complimented her skin tone and brought out warm red undertones in her hair. But it was more than that. She seemed to be sitting a little taller in her chair. She felt more confident in these clothes than in her normal attire. Suddenly, the case of Molly Hooper's clothes was more intriguing than bacterial cultures. Sherlock stood and walked past her with the pretense of getting something from a cabinet above and to her right. He looked down on her as he reached into the cabinet for some more petri dishes. She kept her eyes on her work, hardly registering he was there. Sherlock was torn between satisfaction that she didn't suddenly shrink away from him and disappointment that he no longer set her off balance without any effort. He did miss the delightful way he could sway her with a smile and a wink.

He studied her shirt, a men's dress shirt, the color of dark red wine, obviously not hers. Not her father's, the cut was too modern, but not a brother as she was an only child. Molly wouldn't have anything like that from an old boyfriend as there had been no serious live-in ones since she moved to London. She had no boyfriends at the moment either as it had been impossible for her to date during his exile. He could arrive at her flat at any time, day or night and so she had abstained for the sake of his safety. She hadn't mentioned any new relationships in the months he had returned either. Then it clicked, she was wearing one of his shirts! In a true role reversal, he suddenly felt color creep upon his own cheeks. What on earth was happening?!

He hastily closed the cabinet without taking anything out and retreated to his own workspace. Sitting uncomfortably on his stool he tried to analyze the physiological reactions he had just experienced: elevated heart rate, flushed skin, palms a bit clammy, and an uneasy quiver in his stomach. Nothing about Molly Hooper had made him react like that before. He knew what those symptoms corresponded to but it was impossible. He did not have _feelings,_ let alone _feelings for Molly Hooper_! But seeing her in his clothes, that was a delight even greater than making her stutter and blush before allowing him access to a cadaver. Further experimentation was warranted.

"You look nice today, Molly," Sherlock abruptly stated. He immediately regretted going with the blunt approach.

Molly's head snapped up from her work and she spun around to face him. It wasn't that she had forgotten he was there, that was impossible, but that sentence certainly caught her off guard.

"Oh, what! Oh, uh…thanks," she stammered. She figured that the fright of his sudden statement justified a little stuttering.

"I particularly like that shade. It compliments your hair, which also looks nice pulled up like that. Very practical for dealing with various chemicals and body fluids throughout the day."

"Yeah, I thought it would be nice for a change. I have been considering getting it cut." Was she seriously having a conversation about her hair with Sherlock Holmes?! And he wasn't being rude or anything. She colored as she suddenly realized where this conversation was headed. He recognized the shirt alright and was building up to torment her about it.

"No, I like it better long. But I have to say, the shirt was a…bold choice," he spoke calmly, having regained control of his _emotions_, but smirked at her in a way that indicated he knew he was making her uncomfortable and enjoyed it.

Molly's face went completely red and she began to wring her hands nervously. Why did he have to do that?! Fix her with those ridiculous eyes and smirk like that. If he were any other man she would be able to flirt right back, give him a taste of his own medicine. And that's when it clicked for mousy Molly Hooper. He _was_ just a man after all. She had seen how incredibly human he was and how vulnerable he could be. In fact, she was probably one of very few people who knew he had emotions, even if he preferred not to admit to them. She could still turn the tables on this impossible man.

"You think so? I just didn't like anything in my closet this morning and this was just hanging there. You never asked for your things back so I didn't think you would mind," Molly quietly spoke and her eyes remained at the floor but she was no longer as nervous as before.

"It is a good sight better than the shapeless garments you normally wear," he casually responded. He had been hoping to get more of a rise out of her. Maybe a slightly sharp comment about her old attire would goad her into a more interesting reaction.

"I have to agree. And you say it suits my hair? I hadn't noticed." Molly slipped out of her lab coat, hanging it on her chair back and in a sudden move pulled her hair loose from on top of her hair letting it fall on her shoulders. She turned and looked at her reflection in a small mirror stuck to the wall behind her desk. Molly leaned over the edge of her desk slightly and stood on her toes just enough to present her backside just the way she knew men couldn't resist. She ruffled her fingers through her hair and flipped it around her shoulders. Turning back to Sherlock she was very pleased with the reaction she had elicited from the always cold detective.

He realized too late that he was trapped. As her hair fell onto her shoulders, the color came back to Sherlock's face unbidden. His heart rate shot up again and there was a bit of tightness in his lungs. Watching as she bent over her desk to adjust her hair in the mirror was too much and he found it difficult to swallow. When would he learn that Molly Hooper was not just useful? She was clever as well and had caught on to his game. He coughed a bit trying to find his voice.

"Hmmm, indeed," he practically growled. His eyes locked with her warm ones. She smiled and giggled in that bright way she always had. She knew exactly what she was doing. He was aware he was soon to be out of his depth. One last thing he could try.

"But if it's not too much trouble, Dr. Hooper, I think I'd like to have my belongings back." His smirk grew into a wicked grin.

Molly gasped slightly but then smiled wickedly herself. She stepped close enough that she could feel his body heat. Not breaking eye contact she spoke barely above a whisper.

"Oh but Mister Holmes, then I'd have nothing to wear."

* * *

Oh yes, the case of Molly Hooper's clothes was going to be one to keep him busy for quite some time. And she would later decide that having nothing to wear was quite possibly the best thing she could have found in her closet that morning.


End file.
